


Marked

by isabeau



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Basically a PWP, M/M, Porn, Remix, happier endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um.  Charles gets jealous, and then there is sex, because porn is awesome, or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Indelible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828316) by [isabeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau). 



> So, uh. I wrote Indelible, which was a plot bunny that my brain wouldn't let go of, but then my brain latched on to "but what about the sex they were about to have?"
> 
> And porn is more in line with the "treat yo self" concept than anything anyway.
> 
> So: have the "Charles managed to not say anything stupid, so they had sex" remix.

"She was not flirting with me," Erik says mildly, stretching out to his full length on the motel bed. Legs crossed at the ankles and hands behind his head, he looks positively delicious, even fully clothed.

Charles climbs onto the bed and kneels straddling Erik's legs. "She was," he retorts, "and you didn't do a very good job of showing her that you're ... taken."

"I didn't want to scare away a potential new recruit." Erik grins, his whole face transforming with wicked delight, and props himself up on his elbows. "Why, Charles Xavier, I do believe that you're _jealous_."

Charles gives half a laugh. "Of course I am." He prowls forward to claim Erik's mouth with a kiss. "I have you and I plan on keeping you."

"Is that so," Erik murmurs, amused, and tilts his head back and to the side so that Charles can nuzzle at his jawline. Dressed as he is in a turtleneck and slacks, very little of his skin is free, but Charles takes full advantage of what he gets, teeth scraping against stubble at the place that makes Erik shiver just so.

"It is," Charles whispers, and nibbles on the lower curve of Erik's ear. "You are mine." His words are almost soundless, but he is pressed so close that he can feel the tremor that the words elicit in Erik. "And don't you forget it."

"Hmm," Erik says, and he's laughing, the bastard. "You know how my memory is. I might need some ... memory aids."

"Oh, I'll aid you," Charles threatens, aware as he speaks that it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but not caring because he has an Erik underneath him, thrumming with need. He gets his hands underneath the turtleneck, rutching it up as he spreads his hands up Erik's long, lean torso. "I will mark every inch of your skin if I have to, mister." He can feel muscles shifting under his touch as Erik arches up slightly. "But first you need to get your clothes off."

Erik's grin widens, playful and daring. "Make me," he taunts.

They both know that Charles could, quite literally -- that he could use his telepathy to get inside Erik's head and suggest, and Erik would follow that suggestion to the letter. They both also know that he won't, not without express permission.

Instead, Charles bites his lip as he regards Erik for a moment, thinking, and then he laughs and strips his own shirt off in one fluid movement before unbuttoning his trousers. He doesn't bother taking those off, though; just kneels back so Erik has a good view, takes himself in hand, and begins wanking himself off.

He makes a show of it, too. Doesn't bother to be quiet, but lets himself gasp and moan with every movement. Lets his tongue flick out to moisten his lips as he pants for air. Lets his body arch with the pleasure of his own touch, lets his free hand roam over his own body, pinching his nipples and scraping faint lines into flushed skin.

Through all of this, Erik watches him, heavy-lidded eyes growing sake with lust. He's got good enough control still that he doesn't move, but the bulge in his trousers indicates that he's not unaffected, and there's a tension in him that wasn't there before.

Charles laughs again, head thrown back and eyes fluttering shut, and the laugh morphs into a cry of sheer pleasure as he comes, striping Erik's chest with irregular spurts of jizz.

"There," he gasps out, not afraid to show how pleased he is at his own work. "You'll have to take your clothes off now, won't you."

"Only my shirt," Erik muses.

"Oh, don't worry," Charles says cheerfully. He wriggles down so that he can breathe open-mouthed on the tell-tale bulge in Erik's trousers, and spares a glance up at Erik's face before dipping down, sucking the peak of the tent into his mouth and sucking.

All he can really taste is fabric, but Erik arches into the contact, breath coming hard and fast now. "Fuck," he says appreciatively.

"That was the idea," Charles agrees. "Now, are you going to take these things off, or--"

There is no or. Erik lifts his hips so that Charles can tug the trousers down, then kicks them the rest of the way off as Charles gets his own trousers off. "How do you want this?"

"Whatever you want," Charles says. "Just -- something -- anything."

"Dangerous," Erik comments, but all he does is stretch out a hand, using his powers to tug open the drawer of the bedside stand and float out the tube he'd stashed there earlier. "On your knees-- no, on your back. I want to see you."

"Haven't seen enough already?" Charles says, half mocking, as he gets himself into position, pillows under his hips and legs lifted up and out.

"Never enough," Erik says, which is about the way Charles feels about him.

The first time he'd fucked Charles, Erik had insisted on a proper careful prepping, driving him crazy with one finger and then with two fingers until Charles was half sobbing with the need for more. There's none of that this time. Just lube on Erik's cock, and then he's kneeling below Charles, his hands on Charles' arse, spreading him wide.

The first thrust noses inside, then backs off; the second skids away. Erik lines up again and -- "Do it," Charles says, ending in a gasp as Erik surges forward, sheathing himself inside. "God, yes, please, fuck me."

"For a professor," Erik comments hoarsely, "you have a dirty mouth."

"You have -- fuck." Erik isn't holding back -- not that Charles wants him to -- and his movements slam him into Charles like a tidal wave, rock the bed, make the metal in the room rattle. "--no idea, God, Erik, _Erik_ , please--". Charles is pretty sure he's close to unintelligible at this point, doesn't fucking care. "Mine," he says, as much question as statement.

"Yours," Erik agrees, a low growl of pleasure and lust. His fingers dig into Charles' flesh, finding half-healed bruises from a different night, and the little pleased cry that Charles gives makes Erik groan and thrust erratically once more before he comes, arching, silent, trembling all over.

When the last shudders have passed and the chatter of dancing metal has died down, Erik lets himself collapse with a groan on top of Charles. "Yours," he says again, and bites lazily at Charles' shoulder. "Just like you're mine."

"Well, yes, that goes without saying." Charles doesn't particularly want to move; stickiness and all, he'd rather just lie here for days. "I've been yours since I first saw you."

"Good," Erik says, and then drapes a heavy arm over Charles' chest when he stirs. "Don't."

"We need to get cleaned up," Charles says halfheartedly, "get some sleep for tomorrow's drive."

"Agreed," Erik says, and the shark grin is back. " _After_ round two."


End file.
